by Ann Collins
“We’ll worry about that later. Right now, we have to go.”
“But I don’t think I can walk, and you’re not supposed to lift anything heavy. Leave me here while you get help.”
Air hissed through his teeth. “First my drawing, now me. Julia, think about yourself for a change. You could bleed to death if I leave you behind.” Nearly shaking with his fear for her, he leaned in close, his face just inches from hers. “I won’t leave you behind. I won’t lose you, too.”
“You’re not planning to take to the road again?”
“No. My place is with you. So don’t you dare die.”
She touched his scarred cheek. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“I expect you to keep that promise. Now forgive me for hurting you, but there’s no other way.” He lifted her into his arms as gently as possible, wincing at the pain from his bruised ribs.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and her mouth tightened into a thin line, but she made no sound.
Tightening his grip on her, he lurched to his feet and started running. In case the sniper had them in his sights, Alex used the few bushes and palms as cover and altered his course with intermittent zigs and zags.
No shots rang out, but he didn’t slow until he reached the doctor’s cottage. Theo was holding the door open for him, the elderly bellboy out of breath from racing him there. His face paled at the sight of Julia’s blood fanning out over her shirtwaist. Alex suspected he looked pretty pale himself.
Dr. Dolan was standing in the doorway of his office when Alex carried her inside. Mary Dolan stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
Alex gasped for breath and words. “She’s been shot. You have to stop the bleeding.”
“Mary,” the doctor said, all business, “help get Julia’s clothes off, whatever’s in the way.”
“Yes, dear.” Mary followed them into the office. “Oh, my poor Julia.”
“I’ll be all right, Mary. Don’t worry.”
“Hush,” she said. “Save your strength.”
Alex carefully laid her on the examining table.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Theo asked, a tremor in his voice. He was standing in the doorway, gripping the doorjamb.
“No,” Dr. Dolan answered. “Except close the door.”
“Wait.” Alex flicked a look at Theo while Mary began unbuttoning Julia’s skirt. “Telephone Marshal Landis. Tell him Julia was shot. We don’t know who did it, but with Tyler Wolff in the area, he should be considered a suspect.”
“I’ll tell the marshal.”
Alex nodded. “After that, go to the laundry and find out if one of the girls sent a note about a broken washing machine. Come back when you’ve got answers. I’m not leaving Julia, but I will find whoever did this.”
And once he did find him, if Marshal Landis failed to do his job and arrest the snake, Alex vowed to take justice into his own hands.
* * *
Julia gritted her teeth against the pain as Mary cut her stained combination camisole and corset away from her wound, leaving the rest of her modestly covered. She heard water running and the sound of Dr. Dolan washing his hands at the sink. Alex stood at the head of the examining table and brushed her hair back from her face, over and over.
She peered up at him, at her husband, the man who had risked his life bringing her to safety. He was also the man she … loved.
She didn’t know when she had fallen in love with him, but she realized now that her heart belonged to Alexander Devlin MacLean. There were so many reasons to love him—his kindness and caring, his intelligence and protective nature, his solid strength and support for her position as manager.
He was a rare individual, a special man who had endured tremendous loss, suffering, and self-imposed guilt, but who had also survived in the end, risking a marriage of convenience to keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life, tying herself to Tom Landis. In helping her, Alex had allowed her to meet her father’s deadline. Even if she ultimately lost the hotel to the bank, she would not be losing everything. She had Alex.
She reached up and took his hand in hers. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in my office this afternoon.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. You’ll be in bed, resting, and not only to recover from your wound. I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
She wished she could deny his statement, but the dark circles under her eyes told the indisputable truth.
“Stop moving, Julia.” Dr. Dolan bent over her side as Mary busily arranged the hem of Julia’s skirt and petticoat more modestly over her ankles. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He gingerly wiped away the blood with linen toweling and visually examined her wound. “Well, you’re right. You’ll be fine. The bullet grazed you, and the bleeding has nearly stopped. You don’t even need stitches.”
Mary clapped a hand over her heart. “Oh, my goodness. What a relief. Thank heavens the gunman was a poor shot.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Dolan,” Alex said. “Julia sidestepped at the last second to chase after a piece of paper she’d dropped.”
Mary sucked in her breath. “Oh, dear.”
The doctor blinked several times.
Only now grasping how close she had come to death, Julia felt a chill travel throughout her body. She gripped Alex’s hand tighter, trying to stay calm.
“I had better get busy cleaning this wound,” the doctor said. “There are some threads from your shirtwaist and camisole in it and some splinters of boning from your corset. To reduce the risk of infection, I’ll need to get them out. This will hurt a bit, Julia.”
“I can bear it,” she said, preparing herself.
Dr. Dolan flicked a glance at Alex. “If you’d rather not watch, you’re free to wait out in the hall.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Julia, squeeze my hand as hard as you need to.”
She nodded.
“Very well then. Here we go.” Dr. Dolan began probing her wound with a pointed pair of tweezers.
She locked her teeth, clutched Alex’s hand, and concentrated on breathing. She was grateful Alex insisted on staying, but she felt bad that he was subjecting himself to witnessing her pain. A grim expression made the tendons in his neck stand out like ridges in the sand.
“Doc, are the chances of infection high?” He laid his other hand across her forehead, as if checking for fever even at this early stage.
“There’s always a possibility,” he answered, continuing with his work, “but I keep up on the latest methods of medical hygiene. The advancements over the past twenty years have been most illuminating. I was particularly fascinated by Pasteur’s germ theory of disease.”
“Yes, but how likely is it that Julia will contract an infection?”
Dr. Dolan looked up. “Alex, you are putting the cart before the horse. There’s no need to worry at this point, and probably not at all. Her wound is not serious, and the likelihood of infection is low. I am taking every precaution against it, and I will check on her regularly.”
Alex let out a deep, audible sigh. “Thanks, Doc.”
Twenty minutes later, after she had endured the application of a stinging, strong-smelling antiseptic solution, Dr. Dolan pronounced her wound clean and ready to be dressed. Mary helped him gather up what he would need.
Julia gave Alex his hand back, and he shook it out.
“You are stronger than you look.” He smiled, relieving her of the worry that she might have hurt him.
At the sound of a light tapping on the door, Alex went and opened it a few inches.
“How’s she doing?” came Theo’s voice.
“Good. She’s going to be fine. Absolutely fine.”
“Thank God,” the bellboy said. “I did like you said. Marshal Landis has been notified about what happened, and he’s gone in search of Mr. Wolff. I went over to the laundry next. None of the laundresses sent a note about a broken washing machine. All the machines are working fine.”
Julia lifted her head from the cushioned table, and her gaze locked with Alex’s. “Someone deliberately sent me out there to be shot.” She lay back down. What had she ever done to deserve such enmity?
The door closed as Theo left, and Alex’s footsteps thudded across the floor on his way back to her. She rolled her head to the side and watched him approach, noticing his shirt for the first time. Across his stomach, her blood stained the faded blue cotton. Her stomach rose and dropped, as if she had just climbed a wave and plunged down the other side.
Alex, following her gaze, grabbed the shirt with both hands and ripped upwards. Buttons popped and fabric tore. With his chest bare, he wadded the ruined shirt together and wiped the bit of blood that had soaked through to his skin.
Seeing him shirtless again, she momentarily forgot why she was lying there.
Mary mumbled several incoherent words, then thrust out her hands and took the shirt from him. “I’ll put this in the rubbish bin and get you one of the doctor’s clean shirts.” She hurried out.
Dr. Dolan prepared a dressing, gently pressed it to her wound, and secured it with a length of gauze wrapped around her middle. “There. That should do it. The wound will ooze, so I don’t recommend removing the dressing. I’ll check it tomorrow. Don’t take any baths until I say so.”
“All right, Doctor. I’ll be a good patient.”
“You won’t need to curb your usual activities, but I do recommend you get some rest. You are looking tired, Julia.”
“I’ll make sure she stays in bed,” Alex said.
“Then I won’t worry.”
Julia sighed, feeling like a prisoner in her own home. However, she had to admit it was nice to have Alex take care of her. Could he ever love her the way she loved him?
Mary bustled back in with a clean shirt and closed the door behind her. “Here you are.”
She helped Alex into it, her hands smoothing the fabric over his muscular arms, which pushed the width of the long sleeves to the limit of their seams. The shirt was also too short for his tall frame.
Julia stifled a laugh at the amusing spectacle.
“Oh, my,” Mary said, trying to make the sleeves fit better, “you are a strapping fellow, aren’t you? I noticed it that first day, but—”
“Mary!” Dr. Dolan snapped the linen towel he was holding.
Mary’s hands paused on Alex’s arms. “Yes, dear?”
“Let Alex finish the job himself.”
Eyes twinkling, her mouth threatening a smile, Mary stepped back and dropped her hands to her hips. “Why, my dear Dr. Dolan, I haven’t seen you this jealous since—”
“I am not jealous.” He harrumphed and shuffled off to the sink.
Mary winked at Julia, refastened Julia’s clothing, and covered her with a light blanket.
Alex managed to button the borrowed shirt most of the way up the front. The width was enough to accommodate the doctor’s well-fed stomach.
The chest hair exposed in the V below Alex’s collarbones captured Julia’s gaze. She rather wished Mary had not returned so quickly to clothe him.
The door flew open, crashing against the wall.
Julia jerked her head up and stared in amazement as Tom Landis shoved an impeccably dressed and stumbling Tyler Wolff through the doorway. His fedora dropped over his eyes and fell to the floor.
“Marshal!” Dr. Dolan stepped in front of her, blocking the newcomers’ view of her. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a medical office, not a jail cell.”
“I’ve apprehended a fugitive,” he said, puffing out his massive chest. His star of office was polished to its usual high shine. “I caught him boarding the ferry.”
Julia leaned out to see around the doctor.
Wolff had his back to her as he scooped up his hat and glared at the marshal. “I am no fugitive.” He straightened his clothes. “Now will you please tell me why you dragged me off that boat?”
Tom Landis glared back at him. “To arrest you for the attempted murder of Julia Fairbanks … MacLean.” He jerked his head toward her.
Dr. Dolan stepped aside.
“What?” Wolff spun around. “Julia? My God! Are you all right?” The concern in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes floored her. He strode toward the examining table, but Alex stepped into his path. Wolff leaned from side to side to see around him. “What happened?”
“As if you didn’t know,” the marshal said.
“I don’t.”
“She was shot,” Dr. Dolan said while Mary placed two pillows under her head. “Fortunately the bullet only creased her side.”
“I didn’t shoot her. Julia, I swear.”
“That’s ‘Mrs. MacLean’ to you,” Alex said.
Wolff scrutinized him from top to bottom. “You must be the husband.”
“I am.”
“Well, Mr. MacLean, I had nothing to do with hurting your wife.”
Julia wanted to see Wolff better. “Alex, let him come closer.”
He shifted over, but only after curling a hand around the man’s upper arm. “Try anything, Wolff, and you’ll lose the use of this arm permanently.”
Wolff stared at him, eyes narrowed, then tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Understood, but know that I have been wrongly accused. Marshal Landis, did you find a gun on me?”
Tom took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. “You could’ve thrown it in the bay. You had ample opportunity.”
Wolff’s shoulders went back, and he seemed to stand taller. “I never had a gun to begin with. Why would I want to kill Jul— Mrs. MacLean?”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “To carry out your threat. You want the Hotel Grand Victoria, and you told me yourself you’d have to ‘do things the hard way’ because I wasn’t cooperating.”
“I was talking about the bank! I went to First California’s manager and suggested the board of directors find a way to call in your loan, which would force you to sell. I am no killer. I am a shrewd and patient businessman who doesn’t need to resort to violence to get what I want.”
She laid her head back, trying to process what he’d said and formulate a response. The man willingly admitted he had purposely put her ownership of the hotel in jeopardy. Did she dare believe his claims about not resorting to violence?
She studied his unrepentant expression. “You succeeded very well at your game of business, Mr. Wolff. The bank did call in my loan, and, as I’m sure you know, I can’t afford to pay it.”
“Call them off, Wolff.” Alex’s hand tightened on his arm.
He winced. “I can’t. My suggestion was a foregone conclusion before I ever made it. First California was hit especially hard during the Panic, and their recovery has been slower than most of the other banks that survived. To sustain their bank, the board of directors needs whatever money they can get out of this hotel.”
Julia felt as if she were deflating like a balloon. She believed him. She’d seen firsthand the signs that not all was well at the bank. The building’s interior hadn’t been kept up, and fewer employees worked there now.
“Mr. Wolff,” she said, “did you pay one or more of my employees for information about me and the hotel?”
“I did, and I don’t apologize for it. In any business, accurate information is the key to success. I used two of your more disgruntled male employees, whom I met after spending some time in The Privateer, one of the taverns frequented by your staff.”
“Tell me their names.”
Dr. Dolan laid his hand on her shoulder. “Julia, perhaps you should interrogate the man another time. You ought to rest.”
“Doctor, I want to know who betrayed me.”
Wolff hesitated, then shrugged. “Chalmers and Levesque.”
“Jacques?” She could easily believe Chalmers a traitor, but her maitre d’? Until now, she had attributed his occasional lack of respect to his temperamental disposition.
Alex’s voice filled the silence. “Did you pay one of
them to kill Julia?”
“No!” Wolff yelled. “How many times do I have to tell you? I wouldn’t hurt her. I offered to buy the hotel, not steal it. Though, by rights, it should be mine.”
She exchanged astonished looks with Alex, Mary, the doctor, and Tom. “Yours?”
“Yes, mine. Lloyd Alwin Fairbanks was my father.”
Julia couldn’t make a sound.
Mary gasped loud enough for all of them.
Everyone’s face but Wolff’s registered surprise and disbelief.
Julia swung her gaze back to him. Really looking at him, she was rendered mute a second time. Now she knew why he looked familiar. His eyes, the shape and hazel coloring, were her father’s eyes.
He pointed at her. “That would make you, Mrs. MacLean, my half-sister.”
A bubble of hysterical laughter popped out of her. This was priceless. Her father had wanted a boy more than anything else. Over and over, he had tried to father one when, in truth, he already had one.
“My father didn’t know about you, did he?”
Wolff’s expression closed down on itself. “No.”
Marshal Landis stepped forward. “Julia, you can’t believe what this man says. He’s trying to swindle you. If he didn’t shoot you, I’ll arrest him for something else.”
“I appreciate your offer, Tom, but I do believe him. Look at his eyes. His chin, too. They’re the same as my father’s were.”
Everyone stared at his face, which reddened under the scrutiny.
Questions whirled in her head, and another bubble of inappropriate laughter burst from her. She clamped down on it long enough to ask, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Two years older than I.” He would have been conceived before her parents married. At least her father had not betrayed her mother with another woman. “Regardless of your age, if Father had known about you, the hotel would have been yours. He longed for a son.”
Tears leaked from her eyes at the irony, and she began to cry from her heart. Her mother had died needlessly, trying to give Father what he already had. Why hadn’t Wolff made himself known before now?